Twenty-nine
by quillandspindle
Summary: Between the epilogues.


**A/N: New chapter for Seventeen coming up this week, I promise. But while editing it, I got distracted and so wrote this oneshot. Minimal editing, and kinda manic. Fair warning.**

 **So, I'm about to run through a minefield. Specifically, the minefield that is the First Epilogue of Book Nine. Here's what I understand: there are two general schools of thought regarding how that First Epilogue became the Second Epilogue.**

 **School of Thought #1: Sabrina dumps Bradley and marries Puck without even taking the time to change her dress. Perhaps even re-used the same guest list (but - one hopes - swopped out the minister).**

 **School of Thought #2: Sabrina dumps Bradley and tells Puck to get his act together and come find her when he's stopped being commitment-phobic. Fast forward 4, 5 years and the boy . . . er, I mean man, goes down on one knee (or throws the ring at her in calculated nonchalance) and everyone has stars in their eyes (except Titania, who's dabbing hers and gasping, "oh, my baby's grown up at last!"). Cue sighs.**

 **And then there's School of Thought #3: Actually, it's a comedy, like the original Midsummer Night's Dream. This is Puck, after all, right?**

 **What. Have. I. Done.**

* * *

December 5th.

An ordinary day. Five days into the advent season, sixteen till the solstice. Too many after Thanksgiving and too many before Christmas to count as significant. It couldn't have been more random than if he'd scoured the calendar grid and deliberately picked out a square that had absolutely nothing on it.

As good a day as any, he decided. A drop in the ocean of eternity.

He'd never been good with time. It wasn't that he was immortal, although there was something in that. It was more his conviction that the world would've stood still were he not in it, or else wasted the myriad of lifespans of which he had no concern. Or interest. After all, he'd seen and done enough in the veritable era he called his life: he was a king and, before that, a vagabond, and if that didn't span the spectrum of human experience, he didn't care to know what else he might've missed.

Not that he was even human.

Wicked and lovely, his eyes were the color of maple buds, his skin velvet and sun-kissed, his head crowned with ringlets of gold cropped close as to accentuate a perfect jawline and impossible cheekbones. If not for his ears - pointed and otherwordly - he might've been mistaken for just another earthborn male unfairly blessed with a face to inspire symphonies and poetry. Or secret fantasies to stir even the most stoic of hearts. And then break them.

As he'd done countless times. Maidens and princesses in his court who'd overlooked him as a precocious child suddenly noticed when he'd started to age. Neighboring monarchies began sending emissaries for more than just peace alliances once the word spread that the crown prince of Faerie had risen to the throne, had grown into his stature, had become _beautiful_.

He'd cast them all off. _For centuries, you ignored me when I was a boy_ , he said. _Why should I receive you when I am a man? You are nothing to me._

There was one, however, who was not.

He had loved her and lost her once. Unlike him, she numbered her days and mapped her years and when he'd left and not returned she'd deduced that he had other places to be which left no room for her, and other stories to live in in which she would play no part. So she'd fallen into the arms of another, when she'd felt whole enough to love again, and when she'd put their childhood behind her.

And he'd almost let her walk away from him, simply because he hadn't realized that a year - or five - could be hidden in a blink.

Those watching from the sidelines had shaken their heads: what a waste, a near miss; _if only_. Those who knew them well pondered the serendipitous timing of fate and watched, with hope, the long climb back. She'd had to rebuild who she was and exorcise the demons that painted false faces on her soul. And he'd had to unlearn everything he knew about time and love and _forever_.

Now, he sat on his throne with his legs splayed before him, distracted and deaf to the world around him.

"Have you heard a word I've said?" His brother snapped his fingers before his face.

"Of course not," he scoffed. "Couldn't you tell?"

"You could've stopped me before I blew twenty minutes explaining the situation to the North. Now we'll have to start over."

"Please don't," he shuddered. "What day is it?"

His brother frowned. "Monday."

"Date?"

"The fifth. Why?"

"Nothing special about today?"

The frown deepened. "No."

"No human anniversary, Faerie holy day, astrological zenith?"

His brother shook his head, perplexed.

"Perfect."

"What's this about?"

Puck rose and shook off his languor.

"I think I'll go ask her to marry me."

"Again? What is this - the twelfth time?"

"Eleven. You disapprove."

"It's what I do. I'm the disapproving brother." Mustardseed sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't badger a girl into marrying you, you know."

"You almost need to, with this one. Besides, if she were really serious, she would've left long ago. The fact that she's sticking around is proof that she's a glutton for punishment. Or -" he unkinked his neck, "- reward."

 _He does have a point_ , Mustardseed conceded. "So, when?"

"The asking or the marrying?"

The prince slitted his eyes at his older but not-necessarily-wiser brother, and refused to answer.

"Cancel all plans for the invasion to the North." Puck waved his hand in a flamboyant gesture. "We don't need another war, for crying out loud. Reassign all personnel and funnel the budget into the wedding instead."

"Shouldn't you wait till she says yes, at least?"

The King arched an eyebrow. "Why would she say anything else?"

"Ten bucks on No," Mustardseed proffered, deadpan.

"Twenty on Yes." Puck countered.

* * *

She said no.

Later, he reflected on how he might've approached it differently: here, a compliment; there a gracious allowance for time to consider his proposal. He supposed he got off easy; she could've hit him, all things considered.

He shook his head. She hadn't hit him in more than a decade; they weren't the children they used to be. She used words now, and they were much worse.

But - almost three years. Surely she'd be ready? Surely she'd have been counting the days, weeks, months?

 _Eleven times_. Eleven times he'd asked her to marry him, and eleven times she'd turned him down. She'd varied her manner of rejection, of course, just as he'd varied the manner of his proposals. The first time, he'd gotten down on one knee on Valentine's Day, as was the human custom. She'd crossed her arms and said, "Nice try."

The second time, he'd picked her birthday. He'd swept her off her feet - literally - and asked her several hundred feet above the Empire State Building, with the stars as their witness. She'd gasped, "Put me down; everyone can see us!"

The third time, he'd buried the ring in a chocolate souffle during their anniversary dinner. She'd exhumed it with narrowed eyes and dropped it into her champagne flute, where it sent up a spire of hysterical bubbles, like a desperate SOS.

After that, he'd stopped asking the Marshmallow for ideas. And auspicious dates.

Each time Sabrina turned him down, he'd asked why.

"Because you don't want this," she'd answered.

He'd protested. But not fervently enough, because maybe she was right - he wanted _her,_ but could he really say the same for an actual _wedding_? And could she possibly know him better than he knew himself?

Or, at least, that's what he'd _thought_ she'd said.

One night, with their clothes in disarray and their breathing in shallow gasps, he'd tried rationalizing. He'd been up to Attempt #7 by then; an appeal to her better nature while she was being deliciously feral would've been a totally new approach and, given the circumstances, might have as good a chance as any for success.

"You know," he'd begun, his mouth sliding along her neck toward her ear, "since we already like each other this much, let's just make it official."

She'd paused with her hands under his T-shirt, and pursed her lips. He'd misread it as an invitation and leaned in, but she'd disentangled herself and rolled away.

"What?" He'd asked, bewildered.

"Killed the mood," she'd enlightened him.

"Most females would think otherwise. They can appreciate the allure of commitment, even if you can't."

"Go propose to some other female, then."

"Why are you doing this, Sabrina? Are you trying to punish me?"

"For what? Disappearing off the earth for five years? No. Letting me string Bradley along for two? No. Turning up and thinking you could just jump in and take his place? No."

"Uh-oh, is that sarcasm? I think I hear sarcasm."

"For once, nope. Surprise! This is not about punishing, Puck. This is about being sure."

"I _am_ sure. That's why I asked."

Sabrina had sat back up on the bed. "I thought I was sure when I said yes to Bradley. I thought I was sure when we planned the wedding and I walked down the aisle on Dad's arm. But it turned out I _wasn't_ sure. Because when push came to shove, he wasn't enough. Or he wasn't right. Whatever. That moment - when the priest asked people to speak up if they objected - incidentally, that's a horrible thing to have in a wedding ceremony; whoever invented it needs to be shot - I'd never been more terrified in my life. Because it turned out I _wanted_ someone to speak up. I _wanted_ someone to stop me from marrying Bradley. _I_ just didn't want to be the one to do it."

She'd looked down at him, lying on his back, watching her, and held up her fingers in a V.

"I wasn't sure, and I was a coward. Two sins. No, wait - three." Another finger joined the two in a W. " _And_ I was cruel to Bradley."

Puck had listened, the reflection of the bedside lamp bright in his eyes.

"So, no, I'm not punishing you. I love you. You know that. And I _want_ you. Heavens above, I want you. I want you so much it drives me crazy. But it'll only work if I'm sure. And I'm not sure that I'm sure."

"You just killed all my brain cells," he'd groaned.

"All five of them?" Sabrina had interrupted, teasing. "Little itty bitty cells. Poor babies."

"I could have you beheaded for such insolence. In Faerie, ingrates have been drawn and quartered for less. Or fed the potion of madness so they waste away slowly, dreaming of dreams of dreams until they can't tell one reality from the next."

"Beheaded? Oh, but then I couldn't do _this_ -" she'd bent and taken his lips with hers. His hands had reached for her and pulled her down to him, and for the next minutes, the earlier conversation had been abandoned for more pleasurable pursuits.

"So, you're the one that's not sure," Puck had eventually picked up again, combing his fingers through her hair and watching it sift like liquid gold. "I thought when you said I didn't want this, you meant marrying you. Because I do want to marry you, you know. Why else would I've asked you eight times?"

"Nine," Sabrina had corrected. "I've kept score."

"That's demented."

"No - that's good counting. And no, I didn't mean that you didn't want to be with me. I meant that you wouldn't want _me_ unsure like this."

Puck had frowned, then propped himself up on one elbow.

"Look, I _want_ you - sure, unsure, flailing around on a mere suggestion, I don't care. We'll figure it out along the way. Come on, Sabrina - we have to start somewhere. It's been three years."

"Not now."

Puck had exhaled in exasperation. "Well, don't expect me to give up on you, stupid."

Sabrina's mouth had turned up in a crooked smile. "Thank you."

* * *

He kept his word.

As the months went by, the gestures lost their dramatic flair. He realized that initially, they'd been about him - his passion, his desire, his conviction that they would light up the night together. Then they became about her - reassurances and promises and a little bit of reverse psychology to prime her for a favorable response.

She never yielded.

Eventually, they evolved into Us - _look how we've got each other's backs, I'll miss you when you go even though I'll pretend not to, if anything happens to you, I couldn't -_

"Say yes," he begged her at last, "and I'll stop asking."

She put her fingers on his lips, then her own mouth in their place and let herself drown in him so she didn't have to transgress with her words.

* * *

Three years and eleven months after the wedding-that-never-was, she ran into Bradley.

(In a manner of speaking.)

He was standing in a bookshop - _their_ bookshop - when she'd turned down the fiction aisle and there he was. Her first instinct was to whip around and quietly disappear, but she made herself walk until she stood beside him. She took a second peek to be absolutely sure: head reaching only halfway up his shoulder. Freshly shaven. The little curl around his right ear that got more disobedient after a haircut. And his scent - without breathing him in, she knew he'd smell like coffee and musk.

"Hello, Brad."

He started at her voice, and turned. His smile lit his face with genuine pleasure.

"Hey," he said. "How're you doing?"

They'd never asked each other that - they'd always already known. Something sad prickled inside her.

"I'm good. You?"

"The same. Which is not bad. Work is picking up. More clients. Less hours to sleep."

His practice; they'd talked about starting a firm together, partners in more than just love.

"You still come here?" Sabrina asked, even though she knew it was a lame question. Loaded, even.

Bradley nodded to the shelf. "Best selection par none. Especially the travel section. But I'm here for light reading today." He held up the latest Grisham novel.

"Isn't that a bit too much like work?"

He laughed. "Only in Hollywood. You know what it's like in real life. Anyway, nothing beats a paperback stashed in your briefcase on the subway. Especially one that you can skip all the technical stuff in because you know all of it, and get to the good parts. You still read?"

"Yeah. Kindle." She was tiring of the small talk.

His eyebrow rose. "You once swore you'd never do a screen."

"I changed."

She hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to sound supercilious. The space in the aisle was suddenly full of memories and old things that were once comfortable between them.

 _No. There was no_ Them. _Don't apologize. You did that already, years ago, when it'd been the right time for it. Do not go directly to jail. Walk on past GO. Collect $200._

"Brad," she began again, earnestly. "How _are_ you?"

He held her gaze. "I'm really good." He said it slowly, carefully, then held up his left hand -

\- a ring on his finger.

Sabrina blinked, feeling cold and hot and tense and light-headed. _Was it the same ring? It looked like the same ring. Surely he wasn't still -_

"Her name is Kate," Bradley said, and his voice was soft and kind. "We were married last year. Family-only ceremony in Belize. We're expecting our first baby - a boy."

She was certain her mouth was open. Somehow, words tumbled out: _congratulations, happy for you, that's wonderful_.

"What about you?" Bradley was asking her, and she read in his eyes _What about that guy that broke through the roof, that set in motion the events that led to this moment and to Kate and Bradley Jr. and this perverse conversation and what I can totally see it's doing to you._

Those eyes drifted surreptitiously to her left hand, then back up to her face again; sorry.

"I'm seeing someone," she answered at last, more for him than to put herself back in the game.

The pity turned to relief, happiness. "That's great. I'm so glad for you."

She nodded, and tried to smile back. It was all good news, she told herself. _Bradley's moved on, he's happy for himself and he's happy for you._ The feeling of her gut being turned inside out was probably just nerves and the shock of seeing him again, in the same bookshop where they'd first met.

 _Or maybe this is what closure feels like: not that different from throwing up in your own mouth._

They stood for a few seconds longer, wondering how to say goodbye. A handshake would've been too formal for what they'd once been, too pointed a statement of who they now were. A hug would've been scandalous. Anything else would've been plain weird.

She finally stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "Well, I should get going. It was wonderful to see you again. I'm really happy for you and Kate."

He lifted his novel in a salute. "Catch you in here sometime."

She turned, her heart a drum. Then paused. And turned back. Before she could stop herself, the apology sailed out.

"I'm sorry I wasn't sure about you."

Bradley lifted his eyes from the synopsis on the back cover of his book. Sabrina read surprise and sadness in them. He sighed and took a step forward.

"Me, too."

She started to speak again, but he hadn't finished.

"I don't think I was, either. Sure, I mean. Or I would've fought for you, wouldn't I? I think a part of me suspected all along that your heart was elsewhere. And maybe when it came down to it, I was relieved to finally know. It's okay, Sabrina. That was a long time ago."

Unaware of how it happened, she was in his arms - and then, just as suddenly, she found herself walking out of the bookshop, onto the street, into the summer sun. The embrace had been quick, but she'd taken a breath during, and realized that he'd smelled like rain.

* * *

The taxi dropped her off in the heart of Central Park. She marched, like a woman possessed, to the statue of Hans Christian Andersen and barked out, "Sabrina Grimm!"

"Whoa." The statue muttered uneasily. "Just because you're exempt from the jokes doesn't mean you need to bite my head off."

"Sorry," Sabrina replied. "Hell of a day."

"And you picked to come _here_? Ain't gonna get any better, sugar."

Sabrina blinked, and the green of the Park was replaced by the clamor of the Golden Egg pub that fronted Puck's kingdom.

She pushed her way through the crowd of patrons to the entrance to Faerie, then continued her militant stride toward his rooms.

She found him finishing up with one of his generals, an intimidating warrior with a scary-looking broadsword strapped to his side.

"Hey!" Puck said. "Perfect timing!"

Sabrina waited till the general exited the room, then stared Puck down.

"What?" He asked, suddenly alarmed.

"If two people can be both unsure," she blurted out without preamble, "is it possible for two people to also be both sure?"

"What are you talking about?" Puck scratched his head. "Did I miss a memo or something?"

"I ran into Bradley today."

His face darkened.

"He got married. He's going to be a dad."

"Ah," Puck said meaninglessly.

"And he said he wasn't sure about us, either."

"And by 'us', you mean . . .?" Puck put forth.

"Him and me. I wasn't sure about him and he wasn't sure about me because he sensed I wasn't sure about him."

"Head. . . pain. . ." Puck moaned.

"So maybe if you're sure about me, it's because you can sense that I'm sure about you."

Puck had been clutching his head in an exaggerated show of misery, but he abruptly snapped to, and stared at Sabrina.

"Huh?"

"Ask me." Sabrina said.

Puck blinked.

"Come again?"

"Marry me, Goodfellow."

"Oh, _now_ you're sure? Just because your mortal flaunted his domestic success at you? That's like . . . children playing games."

"No. It was what he said about being sure. What if I'm _never_ sure? On my own, anyway. But if we're both willing to work at it, then we can be sure for each other. _With_ each other."

Puck eyed her skeptically. "So, I asked you - what - 29 times, and you say no every single time, and you ask me _once_ , and I'm supposed to say yes?"

Sabrina frowned. She hadn't thought about fairness and equity and such.

"Well, um. . . I suppose maybe I -"

Puck pulled her into him.

"Duh. Yes, stupid." He said, and brought his lips to within millimeters of hers. "Some sense at last. Ironic that we have that mortal to thank for it."

A minute went by in which neither spoke, being otherwise occupied.

"Puck," Sabrina said, sounding only mildly concerned, "the door is open. People might see."

"Let them. My kingdom, my rules."

"Pulling rank. For once, I like it."

"You have no idea of what else I can do that you'll like."

"So - we need to come to an agreement on the terms in this -" Mustardseed's voice sailed into the room and ended in almost a yelp as the prince stopped short at the sight of his brother and Sabrina locked in a passionate embrace.

"You're busy. I can come back later," Mustardseed choked out.

"No. Stay. Grimm here just proposed."

"Aaaaand I take it you said yes." Mustardseed cocked his head.

"No," Puck said dryly. "This is what rejection foreplay looks like."

The prince rolled his eyes.

Sabrina smoothed out her shirt and tried in vain for some composure after the fact. "Hello, Mustardseed."

"Sabrina," he returned, smiling. "Thank you for making my brother an honest man. Now perhaps we can finally get some actual work done around here."

She colored slightly, then said, "Well, I should go. You two need to deal with some treaty or something. Far be it from me to get in the way of Faerie politics. See you, Stinker."

Puck frowned. "Hey, we weren't done!"

Mustardseed coughed uncomfortably. "Yes, you were."

"I didn't mean _that_." Puck glared at him. "We haven't talked about the wedding. We can pencil it in for tomorrow or after the weekend. Any preferences?"

Sabrina gaped as Mustardseed snorted.

"Do you even know anything about weddings?" Sabrina was incredulous. "They take forever to plan!"

"Already done," Puck assured her. "Everything's been good to go for the last two years."

"Four," Mustardseed corrected under his breath.

"No." Sabrina stood her ground. "There are . . . well, there's the guest list. You need time to invite people, and have them RSVP." She looked entreatingly at Mustardseed, willing him to declare his brother a raving lunatic. "And then there are the vows. And the ceremony. The rehearsal. We need a dry run. . ."

"It's all worked out," Puck waved off her protests. "I even made sure to omit the bit where we invite people to argue about why we shouldn't get married."

Mustardseed frowned. "Can you do that? I thought it was set in stone."

"Last I checked, this was a monarchy, bro, not a democracy. I can do anything I want."

The prince made as if to speak, then shut his mouth.

"Well, maybe this treaty can wait," Mustardseed decided with a sigh. "Find me later."

He left the room.

Puck pulled away from Sabrina to study her face, and was struck dumb by how breathtaking it was, even years after he'd first lost his heart to it. "So, really, what _is_ it - you're finally sure? Or you don't care at this point?"

Sabrina took a breath and watched her own fingers as they traced Puck's collarbone. "Bradley said he thought I wasn't sure, but he still wanted to marry me. Who does that? And would it have worked out? Any risk assessment would've turned up red flags all over the place. That's why I've never said yes to you. I don't want to do the same thing to you."

Puck's gaze drifted to a point on the far wall of the room. "I told you, didn't I, why I stayed away those five years? At first it was just time, you know - I just don't have a handle on it. But then I heard you'd moved on with . . . him. So I figured that was a pretty clear message, and I kept staying away. Not happily, of course, but it was what it was."

His gaze returned to her. "I never told you about the wedding, though, did I - what made me come in?"

Sabrina shook her head.

"I thought I'd get there in time to ask you. I mean, I never got an invitation. If you'd really moved on, your family would've sent me one, even if you hadn't. At least for Jake's sake, and the Old Lady's. So it felt like a pointed snub not to even be told, and I wondered. . . Anyway, I decided to come and see how you were, and wish you luck. And -" he grinned, "-make sure your mortal knew he'd have me to contend with if he didn't do well by you."

He rolled his eyes.

"But, like I said, I messed up with the time, and you were already walking down the aisle when I got there. So I watched instead. And then I saw it."

"Saw what?"

"You looking up. For just a moment. During the message. _Before_ the priest even asked people to speak up."

Sabrina swallowed. Yes, she _did_ remember.

"You looked _up_ , Sabrina. Not back at the church doors, where anyone else might have come barging in, like in those tacky movies. And I thought - who were you waiting for? And that was my cue. I _knew_."

He took her hands.

"I don't see you looking anywhere else now," he said quietly. "Are you?"

"No," she answered, and felt something lock into place inside her.

* * *

It was much later that night when Puck returned to work on the treaty. He grumbled non-stop, but Mustardseed saw through it easily.

"You know," Mustardseed began, smilingly watching his brother's golden head bowed over the crackly parchment, "I hope you're not serious about scheduling the wedding tomorrow, or even after the weekend. Sabrina is right about the guests. And Mother would have your head for doing this at the last minute." He blew out a breath. " _And_ mine for letting you."

Puck glanced up, bleary-eyed but with a beatific look on his face nonetheless; he looked like an intoxicated cherub. "She'd have had a heads-up if she'd been around more instead of fraternizing with that horrible freak from the Unseelie Court. Doesn't she even remember that we're enemies? Ten bucks it doesn't last past six months, by the way."

"Twenty it does _and_ they elope by the solstice. And be kind, Puck. She stayed out of _your_ love life; at least extend her the same courtesy."

"No comparison! Sabrina doesn't have six horns on her head!"

"Missing the point. But speaking of heads, does Sabrina know? About the beheadings, the executions, the other violent and bloodthirsty ways in which the Queen of Faerie is expected to maintain her fearsome reputation?"

Puck blanched slightly. "Um. I might or might not have left that out of the job description."

Mustardseed whistled. "Secrets! Well, isn't this marriage off to a great start? We haven't actually even had the wedding and already I foresee a major casualty."

"Oh - Sabrina's tougher than _that_ , brother."

"I meant _you_."

"Hey! I was planning to tell her . . . at some point. I didn't expect her to say yes this soon."

Mustardseed rolled his eyes.

" _Time management_ , brother. It's not rocket science. Even the mortals can do it."

"Fine. Fine. I'll give her the formal briefing after the wedding."

" _Before_."

"And give her an excuse to say no all over again?"

"It must be nice to know her proposal was that unconditional."

"Don't jinx anything! It took me 29 tries, okay? 30, if you count hers."

"I had a bet with Sage that it'd be closer to a hundred."

"Do I even want to know what his wager was?"

"Fifty bucks on 'never'."

"Double-faced filth! I'm demoting him to Private! Anyone with a sense of judgement that poor is not fit to be at the head of my army. And _you_! You get _nothing_ when I die. Nothing! "

Mustardseed's lips twitched. "Well, the bet's off. We both lost."

"That's _not_ the point. It's the thought that counts."

"You know," Mustardseed ignored him, "you _could_ change the rules and the job description, as you call it. Of Queen, I mean."

"I can? Oh, that's right - I have absolute power, don't I? Fabulous. I'll go find her right now."

"Uh-uh. You know you won't be back till sunrise. The next time you want to get out of work, try for some ingenuity! What's happened to you? You used to actually be good at this. I swear that girl's made you soft. You sit right there and finish the treaty, while I write out the guest list."

Puck stuck his tongue out at Mustardseed typing on his laptop.

"Why do you get to use a keyboard and I have to _write_? If we're going to be primitive, why not just settle disputes the old way with sacrificing firstborns and whatnot? Treaty, my foot! And who on earth still uses parchment? This thing doesn't even have spell-check."

"Afraid the Northern Court will discover you can't spell?" Mustardseed grinned slyly.

" _You_ try spelling 'reconnaissance'," Puck complained. "Other kings have scribes and people like that to write their silly documents for them."

"One 'c' , two 'n's and two 's'-es. And other kings have gone to war over something as trivial as an apostrophe in the wrong place. Spell-check is overrated."

"I'll show you overrated. Here's how I'm spelling 'reconnaissance': S-P-Y. There! Hey! Maybe I'll make Grimm write all my documents and things for me. And since she's joining the family, I won't even need to pay her."

Mustardseed snorted, not missing how his brother's thoughts kept flitting shamelessly back to his new fiancee. "I'm sure she'd love for you to include that in the wedding vows."

They worked in silence for a while. Then Puck put on his best innocent voice.

"So. . . who's going to tell Mother we're getting a new Queen?"

Mustardseed threw his brother a look of pure exasperation.

"Fine! Fine!" Puck grouched in resignation. "Can't delegate a _thing_ around here."

"Well, it's _your_ blooming wedding," Mustardseed pointed out under his breath.

Another few seconds of silence.

"She's definitely gonna want to grill Sabrina." Mustardseed added ominously. "It could get ugly."

Puck grinned. "I'd pay good money to watch that."

The brothers eyed each other. There was a dangerous glint in Mustardseed's.

"Ten bucks on Mother."

The King of Faerie threw his head back and roared. "Are you kidding me? We're talking about the girl who rejected me _twenty-nine times_! You think she'll have a problem against _Mother_? _One million_ on Sabrina!"

~fin~

* * *

 **A/N 2: I love Mustardseed. Unabashedly. That is all.**


End file.
